


To Walk in the Park on Sunday

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief, reference to major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 22:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Not long after burying Erik, Christine goes for a walk and is joined by someone unexpected.





	To Walk in the Park on Sunday

She needs to walk. Not to walk somewhere in particular but just to walk. To exercise her thoughts and soothe this aching hollowness in her heart. It’s too much. Everything is just _too much._ And there is nothing she can do now, about any of it.

There is nothing she can do for Raoul, nothing to ease the pain in his heart, to make things even a little easier for him. All she can do is hold him as he cries, hold him and kiss his hair, and wish that that could begin to help him. But she cannot bring his brother back, and if she told the world what happened that night they would lock her away in a home for mad people.

And Erik. Erik. He was lying, waiting for her as he said he would be. And his hand was still faintly warm as she slipped the ring onto his finger. She held his hand a long time, as if by holding it she could will him to wake up, to draw another breath and come back. But he lay there, still and silent, and soon the only warmth in his hand was from her.

She finds herself in a park. In which park she cannot tell, is too numb and hollow to try to figure out, and she sits down on a bench. A park. Erik said that if he had a wife he would walk with her in the park on Sundays. Such a simple thing, and here she is, but he’s gone. He’s gone.

Guilt twists deep in her heart. Why does she feel all these complicated things? Why does she want Erik back? She should hate him! She should be relieved that he’s gone! He cannot hurt her anymore, or Raoul. He especially cannot hurt Raoul, but he has hurt Raoul so much already. So much. But there’s that strange part of her, deep down, that just wants to hug Erik, to hold him and promise him that things will be all right, that _everything will be all right_.

Nothing will be all right, not now. How can it be?

Someone sits on the bench beside her, and she draws in a shuddering breath, glancing at him out of the side of her eye. And finds not some stranger, as she expected, but Monsieur le Persien. He smiles at her, faintly, his eyes heavy, and it is the sight of that sad smile, the sight of those heavy eyes, and he was there too, that night, he was there too through it all and he was there when she buried Erik, and the sight of him here, now, is enough that tears prickle her tears, and she gasps, leans into him.

His arm wraps around her waist, steadying her, and she knows that she is not dreaming the tears she feels in her hair.


End file.
